by Terri Osburn
As they sped up Nolensville Road, Naomi spoke to her fellow drivers as if they could hear her.
“We’re in a hurry here. Don’t you see my flashers? Get out of the way!”
Chance hoped someday he’d look back on this and laugh, but right now, he wanted to yell right along with her. Because reality was setting in, and it wasn’t good. He was a musician—a guitarist—with a giant piece of glass sticking out of his palm. Whatever this thing had severed was probably something he needed if he ever wanted to form another D chord.
There was also another reality. Hospitals meant meds. Opiates for pain. Opiates were worse than a bottle of bourbon for an alcoholic, and Chance had worked too hard in the last year to slide into that kind of hell.
“Do me a favor,” he muttered, forcing his lungs to keep working. “No pills.”
“What?” Naomi kept her eyes on the road. “Honey, you’re going to need something for the pain.”
“No pills. Don’t let them give me anything I can’t buy over the counter.”
“What you’re asking is crazy. Chance, you have an obscenely large piece of glass sticking out of your hand. I don’t think a Tylenol is going to cut it.”
She needed to listen to him. “Nay, please. I can’t get hooked. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Face pale in the passing street lights, she nodded. “Okay. No heavy meds. I promise.”
Out of energy, he slouched lower in the bucket seat. “Thanks, baby,” he mumbled before his world went black.
“Help us, please!” Naomi called as she dragged Chance into the emergency room.
Getting him out of the truck had been like dragging a sedated bear out of a tree. Not that she had experience at such things, but April had a thing for those game warden shows, so Naomi had seen a bear capture more than once.
Most of Chance’s weight was on her back, and if someone didn’t help soon, they were both going to be flat on the ground. Thankfully, three people in scrubs—two women and a man—came rushing out of the large brown doors to her left. When they reached for him, she yelled, “Watch his hand. He has glass in his left hand.”
Another woman, this one in regular street clothes, showed up with a wheelchair, and her helpers lowered him gently into the seat.
“What’s his name?” the man asked.
“Chance,” Naomi replied. “Chance Colburn.” Four sets of eyes looked up at her. “Yes, that Chance Colburn. Now just help him, already. I got him here as fast as I could, but he’s lost a lot of blood.”
One of the women—a nurse, Naomi presumed—pointed at her shirt. “Are you hurt?”
She glanced down to find blood splattered across the front of her white sweater. “No, I’m fine.” Which meant she was covered in Chance’s blood. Bile pooled in the back of her throat as her stomach flipped.
Reaching to touch her hair, the woman said, “You’ve got a pretty bad cut on this ear. Did you two have a fight?”
“What?” Naomi smacked her hand away, anger suppressing the nausea. “No. We were locked out of the house and Chance tried to jimmy a window to get us in. The glass broke and . . . Why are you asking me these questions?” She was too frantic to notice the tears rolling down her cheeks. “You need to take care of him.” She held out her sweater. “He’s bleeding, for God’s sake.”
The woman who’d arrived with the wheelchair patted Naomi’s arm. “Okay, honey. They’re going to take good care of Mr. Colburn.” The people in scrubs pushed him toward the doors, and Naomi tried to follow. “You can’t go back there right now. The doctors need to assess the situation without anyone in the way. But you can help me get things started out here. Do you have his insurance information?”
Naomi fought to get to the doors. “No, I don’t. But I need to go back there. Chance doesn’t want any drugs. I need to make sure the doctor knows that.”
“Mr. Colburn is in a lot of pain. The doctors will make sure he gets what he needs.”
“But that isn’t what he wants.”
“Miss, what is your name?”
Wiping her cheeks, she answered the question. “I’m Naomi Mallard.”
“Good. Okay. Ms. Mallard, I’m Valerie, and it’s my job to get Mr. Colburn into the computer so we can get him the proper treatment. Are you Mr. Colburn’s girlfriend?”
“No.” She nearly said yes, but a few kisses in a limousine didn’t award her that title. “I’m his publicist.”
The patient woman with the kind eyes pulled her gently toward a row of chairs against the wall behind them. “Does Mr. Colburn have any family you can call? Someone who could give us the information we need?”
Naomi allowed herself to be lowered into a chair. “I could call his manager.” Buoyed by renewed purpose, she bounded back up. “Shelly. I need to call Shelly.”
“That’s his manager?” Valerie asked.
“No. I mean yes. But she’s also his sister.” Looking down, she found her bloodstained hands were empty. “I need my phone. What did I do with my phone?”
Valerie edged her toward a set of windows with little round holes in the center. “I have a phone in here you can use.”
But Naomi didn’t know Shelly’s number. She needed her phone.
“I must have left it in the truck. Oh my gosh, the truck is still running outside. That’s Chance’s truck. I can’t leave it like that.”
Dark hands clasped her shoulders. “I need you to breathe for me. Focus now. In and out. Come on. You can do it.”
Naomi tried to follow the instructions, but her heart felt like someone was squeezing it out of her chest. Pressing on her breastbone, she felt the panic rise.
Oh no. Not now.
“I just need a minute,” she panted. “I can do this.”
Recognizing the signs, Valerie fanned Naomi’s face. “Do you suffer from panic attacks, Ms. Mallard?”
“Not in the last few years.” The words came out strained, as if her vocal cords had called it a day.
The office lady once again settled her in a chair. “Stay right here while I get someone to help you.”
Naomi shook her head to insist that she didn’t need assistance, but the words wouldn’t come. Bending over, she pressed her hands against her eyes and willed her brain to keep its shit together.
Chapter 19
“What is he on?” Shelly asked as she watched Chance snoozing on the ER bed.
“I’m not sure,” Naomi replied. “But I know there’s a cocktail in that bag that he isn’t going to be happy about.”
His sister toyed with the blanket covering his bottom half. “They couldn’t leave him in pain like that.”
Rationally, Naomi knew this to be true. But she’d made a promise. An unrealistic one, but a promise, nonetheless. “You know why he didn’t want them.”
Shelly sighed. “Yeah, I know.” Leaning back in her chair, she turned to Naomi. “You look almost as bad as he does. They could have at least given you a clean shirt to wear.”
After the embarrassing panic attack, Naomi had taken extra care not to look down at her sweater. Thankfully, once they’d given her the Ativan, which had calmed her almost instantly, she’d been able to wash the blood from her hands. She’d also parked and locked the truck and then called Shelly.
“I don’t think they have anything other than flimsy hospital gowns.” The one currently draped over Chance might have made her smile if she hadn’t been so worried about him. Yellow with pink-centered daisies didn’t exactly scream alpha male.
“This might be a stupid question, but why were you at Chance’s house tonight?”
In the twenty minutes it had taken his sister to reach the hospital, Naomi had concocted several stories to explain the night’s events. Ever prepared for damage control, she’d spun no less than three yarns involving everything from a last-minute print interview that needed immediate attention, to surveying the house for a possible photo shoot.
But when faced with the question she knew would come, Naomi didn’t have
the energy to lie.
“I took Chance to a family dinner at my parents’ house, and it didn’t go well. To make me feel better, he took me to a quiet spot on his property to watch the stars.” Skipping to the end, she added, “Things progressed from there.”
“Right. Progressed.” Shelly crossed her pajama-covered legs. “Weren’t you seeing someone else a week ago?”
“I was. Until the guy did this.” Naomi lifted her sleeve to reveal the fading bruises. “Looks better than it did a week ago.” Purple had faded to green and had now dulled to a rosy reddish-blue.
Shelly leaned forward. “Michael did that to you?”
“He did. After he was such a jerk to Chance, I decided to leave. Michael didn’t like that idea.”
Platinum brows furrowed. “I never saw that side of him.”
Naomi must have heard wrong. “You know Michael Swanson?”
“You could say that.” Pale lips thinned. “I’m the woman he left for you.”
She had to be mistaken. “Michael said he hadn’t dated for months before we went out.”
“He also put those bruises on your arm. Are you going to believe him or me?”
The answer was obvious. “What a jerk.” With this new knowledge, things fell into place. “That’s why you were so hateful when we first met. You thought I’d stolen him from you.”
“Yeah. Sorry about that, by the way.”
“Understandable, now that I know why.”
Naomi wondered what else Michael had lied about, other than the reason he’d gone out with her at all. She hadn’t confirmed her suspicions, and never would, since doing so would require talking to him. Why give him another opportunity to insult her?
They sat together in silence, listening to Chance’s IV machine beep, while Naomi hoped they’d hear from the doctor soon. The glass remained in his hand, which had been cleaned and immobilized, and she couldn’t help but think the longer it was in there, the worse the damage would be.
After another ten minutes passed, a doctor stepped into the small room, and Shelly and Naomi rose from their chairs.
Eyes unsure, he said, “Mrs. Colburn?”
“That’s neither of us,” Shelly replied. “I’m Shelly Needham, his stepsister and manager, and this is Naomi Mallard. She’s a friend.”
Not the description Naomi had expected.
“Good to meet you both. I’m Dr. Nadal, and I’m afraid I have good news and bad. We’ve managed to stabilize Mr. Colburn. He’s no longer losing blood, and we’re using medication to keep him comfortable.”
Naomi considered reiterating Chance’s request, but that ship had clearly sailed.
“With an injury like this, there’s a chance of nerve damage, but we don’t yet know if that’s the case here. However, there’s no doubt of severe tendon damage. Because this is such a specific area, and taking into account what Mr. Colburn does for a living, I suggest having a plastic surgeon perform the operation to remove the glass and repair whatever damage is in there.”
“Fine,” Shelly said without hesitation. “Whatever it takes. How soon can we get that thing out of him?”
“The sooner the better, but, unfortunately, ten o’clock on a Sunday night isn’t the easiest time to find a plastic surgeon. We don’t have one on call at this facility.”
Naomi threw her hands in the air. “How hard can it be to find a plastic surgeon in Nashville?” And then she answered her own question. “Wait. I can get one right away. Can Chance be transported to Vanderbilt Medical Center?”
“Carefully, but yes. He’s stable enough to make the trip.” The doctor pushed his thick black glasses up his nose. “But this is a tedious procedure. I wouldn’t choose just anyone to perform it.”
“I’m sure I have the right person.” Naomi turned to Shelly. “Work out the details and get him over to Vanderbilt as soon as you can. I’ll get the doctor.”
Shelly grabbed her hand. “Naomi, are you sure? I’m not putting Chance in just anyone’s hands.”
Detail work. That’s what he’d called his specialty. Neal was the perfect candidate.
“I’m positive. But it’s going to take some calls.” Sprinting around the doctor, she said, “I’ll let you know when we’re on our way.”
He was moving.
He felt like roadkill.
And his left arm was numb.
Those were the three facts Chance processed as he drifted awake. Slowly, other details penetrated his fuzzy brain. He was horizontal, he wasn’t alone, and his face felt like it was sliding off his head. The last thing he remembered was riding in his F-150 with Naomi at the wheel. If they hadn’t reached the hospital yet, she was the slowest damn driver on the planet.
“Hello?” he mumbled through dry lips, eyes still shut.
“Chance, I’m here.” The female voice was not the one he expected.
“Where’s Naomi?”
“She’s out getting you a doctor.” Shelly pressed her hand to his forehead. “They’re going to do surgery tonight to fix your hand.”
The mention of his injury made him flex his hand, and Chance regretted the instinct. “Is the glass still in there?”
“It is, buddy. But we’re going to get it out as soon as we can.”
Feeling helpless, he struggled to open his eyes. Light penetrated his corneas, shooting pain straight to the back of his head. “Why is it so damn bright? And why are we moving?”
The light filtering through his eyelids dimmed.
“Try again. I’m blocking the light.”
Trusting her, Chance opened them again and blinked to clear his vision. Straight up was a pair of hands. He followed the arms to the left and found his stepsister watching him with concern in her blue eyes.
“Thanks.” Surveying what little he could see, Chance realized he was in an ambulance. “Where are we going?”
“Vanderbilt Medical Center.”
“Is Naomi going to be there?”
The ambulance swayed, forcing Shelly to brace herself, which sent the light into his eyes again.
“Sorry, bud.” Slender hands once again offered protection. “Naomi sent me a text a few minutes ago. The doctor should be there and ready when we arrive. She’s gone home to change her clothes, but will be there soon.”
Eyes finally adjusting, Chance spotted a clear bag hanging over his head. “They’ve got me on drugs, don’t they?”
“They didn’t have a choice, hon. That isn’t a splinter sticking out of your hand. I know you think you’re tough, but you’re also human.”
Human with fucked-up wiring. He knew that all too well. Not wanting to think about the coming obstacles, Chance focused on the now. “Who has the kids?”
The truck made a hard left and Shelly clung to his gurney. “Debra is with them at the house. I’m hoping Tristan sleeps through the night, but I woke Izzy before I left to make sure she’ll take care of him if he wakes. Debra doesn’t have the strength to do it.”
They hit a pothole and Chance groaned as feeling returned to his arm.
“Can you do something?” Shelly said, alerting Chance to someone else in the ambulance with them.
A needle appeared to his right and delivered a dose of something clear into his IV line. Within seconds, he felt the rush of heat throughout his body. Damn. They were using the good stuff.
“We’re almost there now,” Shelly soothed. “Save your strength.”
The medicine didn’t give him a choice. As his lower body floated away, Chance drifted into darkness, praying this nightmare ended soon.
“Holy shit, Naomi. Who did you kill?”
Ignoring her best friend’s ridiculous question, Naomi dragged her bloodied sweater over her head and tossed it near the trash can in her bathroom. “I don’t have time to explain.”
April followed her to the closet. “You can’t walk in here covered in blood and not tell me something. Are you okay?”
Naomi snatched a gray fleece before dropping onto the bed to remove her boots. “Ot
her than a cut on the ear, I’m fine.” One of the nurses had insisted on cleaning the nick, but as Naomi had insisted, the tiny injury needed little more than a small bandage.
“Was there a car accident? Did someone attack you?”
The second boot hit the floor and Naomi stood to take off her jeans. “There was an accident at Chance’s house. A window broke.”
“Wait. What?” April flounced onto the bed on her knees. “What were you doing at Chance’s house?”
“Why does everyone keep asking that?” The denim cleared her left foot and went sailing through the air. Another casualty of this freaking night from hell. “That doesn’t matter. Chance got hurt. He has a giant piece of glass stuck in his hand, and I need to get over to the hospital so I can see him before he goes in for surgery.”
Luckily, her apartment wasn’t far from Vanderbilt, but she still needed to hurry. Shelly had said they were in the ambulance not far from the hospital only ten minutes ago.
Nearly naked, Naomi rifled through her dresser drawer for a new pair of pants. “Why don’t I have any clean jeans in here?”
“They’re in the basket over here.” April moved the plastic basket closer to the dresser. “You need to calm down.”
“I don’t have time to calm down. Aren’t you listening?” Naomi forced her legs into the first pair of jeans she grabbed. “Chance is going into surgery. I need to get over there.”
“Since when does a guy’s publicist need to be present for a simple hand surgery?”
Naomi pulled a pair of socks from the top dresser drawer before returning to the bed. “That’s a shitty thing to ask. You know why I have to go.”
“I don’t know anything. You left here hours ago for a family dinner with a guy who was pretending to be your date, but was really your cheating ex. When I teased you about getting back together with him, you pointed out all the reasons that wasn’t going to happen.” April grabbed Naomi’s arm, forcing her to stop and listen. “What the hell changed in the last few hours?”
“Nothing changed.” Naomi jerked her arm away. “Everything changed. I don’t know.” She pulled the fleece over her head. “I told you, I don’t have time to talk about it. I need to go.”